


Your colours

by Elesianne



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Making Out, Romance, Secret Relationship, Some Humor, light fluff, sexy correspondence, something like sexy fluff really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-09
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-23 01:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9633338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elesianne/pseuds/Elesianne
Summary: Fingon and Maedhros can't declare their love publicly, but in private they find many ways to celebrate their devotion to each other.And things like colours and emblems are important for elf lords.





	1. Tirion on a summer's day during Years of the Trees

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote another little bit of Maedhros/Fingon! I had the idea when making plans for anniversary celebrations with my boyfriend, though we are no Noldor princelings and thus celebrated our anniversary somewhat differently.
> 
> This fic is fairly light-hearted and humorous, and probably the sexiest thing I've written so far? Still nothing explicit, because if I'm working my way towards writing smut one day, I'm doing it very slowly.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two young lovers celebrate their first anniversary, curtains drawn to hide them from the world but open with their affections.

The first kiss of the night is breathless for both Maitimo and Findekáno, if for different reasons. Findekáno is breathless after running across the garden and climbing up a tree and then jumping to Maitimo's window, and Maitimo is breathless just out of anticipation and worry.

'I'm always worried you're going to fall. I know you have been climbing trees all your life, but what if one day your jump is too short?' Maitimo whispers against Findekáno's lips, unwilling to let go of the kiss but also feeling a need to make his concerns known.

Findekáno entwines his hands in Maitimo's hair, long and red and left to flow freely down Maitimo's back just like Findekáno likes. 'Then my screaming while I fall will scare your baby brothers and the unholy racket they will undoubtedly make will allow me to make a swift and undignified exit from your parents' garden, picking out thorns from my backside.'

'I had the rosebush moved away from under my window, there are no thorns there now', Maitimo says distractedly as Findekáno's strong fingers massage his scalp to relax him.

'So you've even taken precautions! All is well.'

Findekáno pulls Maitimo in for another kiss but Maitimo opens his mouth to speak at that very moment, and the kiss turns to spluttering.

'What now?' Findekáno sighs, his patience fraying.

'What if you don't fall on your backside, what if you fall on your head–'

'My head has sustained worse than a fall into a soft flowerbed from the second floor. It can withstand a lot, you know that. Just like my backside.' Findekáno wiggles a brow, and Maitimo cannot help but blush and chortle at the terrible innuendo.

'Now, if we are done with your fussing, let's move on to more pleasant matters.' Findekáno bends down to pick up a parcel he dropped in his hurry to kiss Maitimo.

Maitimo wants to protest the word 'fussing' but before he can do so, Findekáno is passing the parcel to him.

'What's this?' Maitimo turns it in his hands. Whatever it is, it is light and soft, wrapped in linen and tied with a golden ribbon like the ones in Findekáno's hair.

'An anniversary gift.' Findekáno's smile is uncharacteristically diffident.

'Anniversary of what?' Maitimo asks, the dread of having forgotten something important creeping in.

'The day you finally let me kiss you.' Findekáno shrugs with a studied nonchalance that fools few, and never Maitimo.

'Oh', is all that Maitimo can think to say.

It had been a rainy day and the drops of water in Findekáno's hair had sprayed onto Maitimo's face when Findekáno whirled around and kissed Maitimo after Maitimo admitted in half-choked words that he wanted it as much as Findekáno did. Findekáno had already been turning away from him, about to give up on persuading his cousin that it was all right to act on the feelings they shared.

Now every time it rains, Maitimo remembers that first kiss, the smell of summer rain in the air and the coolness of Findekáno's skin that soon turned to searing heat as they kissed like their hearts would break if they stopped clinging to each other…

But Maitimo hadn't remembered that today is the anniversary of that day, and he feels terrible. 'I'm so sorry, Finno, I don't have anything for you.'

'It's all right, I know you've been absurdly busy lately', Findekáno says, and his smile convinces Maitimo that he means it. 'Your gift to me will be seeing you wearing my gift.'

Brows raised, Maitimo begins to unravel the gold ribbon. Wrapped in the linen is a garment of much finer fabric, finest silk that flows through Maitimo's fingers like water, cool and smooth.

It is a dressing robe, beautiful and luxurious, perfect for lazy summer days – not that Maitimo has much time to laze around – and it is a deep blue, like the sapphires Findekáno's father is fond of, with gold trimming at the sleeves and collar and a golden sash.

'It's in your colours.' Maitimo strokes the fine fabric. Blue for Nolofinwë, and gold for Findekáno himself; these are the colours Findekáno has chosen as his own.

Findekáno nods, his gaze intense. 'Put it on.'

A year has been just about enough to make Maitimo able to strip in front of his lover without getting self-conscious. The way Findekáno looks at him in those moments, or how eager he is to do it himself, makes Maitimo feel more worthy of his mother-name than any amount of praise from others ever could.

This time Findekáno doesn't rush to tear off Maitimo's clothes; he closes the heavy curtains and then leans against a wall and watches, the warm flickering light of candles reflected in his eyes.

 _It feels like such a waste to put on clothes when he looks at me like that_ , Maitimo reflects, but Findekáno asked, so he pulls on the new robe as soon as he has shed his old clothes.

Maitimo glances at the mirror on the far wall. He is not used to seeing himself in this shade of blue, and the contrast between the deep colour and his pale, freckled skin and reddish hair is startling. He ties the sash and considers going to take a closer look at his reflection. But this moment is for Findekáno, not for himself, so he clears his throat and asks, 'Does it look like you thought it would?'

'It looks even better than I imagined.' Finally Findekáno comes to Maitimo and touches him, glides his fingertips across silk-covered chest. Maitimo shivers when his lover presses his hand over Maitimo's heart; surely Findekáno can feel how it races, and the hardening of a nipple when fingers pass over it caressingly.

'You are very beautiful', Findekáno tells Maitimo.

'Thank you', says Maitimo who has learned that this is the right way to answer; objecting or demurring will only make Findekáno unhappy. 'So is the robe. Thank you for that too, Finno.'

'I'm really glad you like it', Findekáno murmurs and slides his hands down Maitimo's arms now, feeling muscles shift beneath the silk as Maitimo fights to stay still in his excitement.

'It is very short, though', Maitimo observes to distract himself from how marvellous Findekáno's touch feels even through the fabric. He looks down at his knees that the robe leaves bare. 'Shouldn't you have learnt by now how tall I am?'

'Oh, believe me, after a year of standing on my toes to kiss you, I know exactly how tall you are, and I also know how much I like looking at your well-shaped legs.'

Maitimo's lips barely have time to curve into a smile before Findekáno rises up on his toes once again. Maitimo gives up on the smile and gives all of himself to Findekáno instead, stepping closer so their bodies are flush against each other, and he bends his head so Findekáno doesn't have to stretch so much, and twines his arms around Findekáno's waist. Findekáno holds him just as tight, his hands again gently twisting in auburn hair, his lips firm and warm and wonderful on Maitimo's.

Their relationship is forbidden and secret, still fairly new too, and sometimes Maitimo fears that it is fragile, but Findekáno himself is solid and strong, and steady and safe, and Maitimo never doubts a thing when Findekáno holds him.

'I love wearing your colours', he breathes when they finally break the kiss. 'I hate knowing that I will have to keep this beautiful robe hidden most of the time.'

'I know, darling. I hate it too.' Findekáno plays with Maitimo's hair, drawing long locks to flow down the front of the blue robe, enjoying the contrast in colours, and guiding Maitimo towards the bed with gentle nudges at the same time. 'But I think you don't always mind secrecy so much. I'm fairly confident that on a few occasions you have burnt all the hotter for knowing that we might be discovered in a compromising position.'

Aware that Findekáno is trying to raise his spirits, Maitimo makes a show of protesting. 'That is an outrageous accusation, Finno. I really can't remember any such occasions.'

'There was that dinner party in uncle Arafinwë's house where we told everyone that we would go to a tavern together afterwards while our families went home, and instead we snuck into a guest bedroom and the lock wouldn't work but you still let me have you on top of that counterpane aunt Eärwen was so proud of embroidering–'

'I didn't want to be discovered; I stuck a chair under the door handle!'

'You didn't choose a very sturdy chair.' Findekáno grins and slides his hands up Maitimo's thighs and under the hem of the robe, a movement made easy by the robe being indecently short. Maitimo's breath catches, and Findekáno drawls, 'Come now, Russandol dear, admit that you burnt hot for me that night.'

' _Oh_ , Valar', replies Maitimo at first to what Findekáno's hands are doing, and then to his words, 'I always burn for you.'

'Unyielding tonight, are you, unwilling to admit I'm right?  I will persuade you to see things my way.' Findekáno draws his hands up and pushes Maitimo on to the bed.

Maitimo falls back happily and settles on the pleasantly cool sheets. Feeling wanton, he spreads his legs and beckons Findekáno to join him. 'Come here so I can take your clothes off.'

'Quicker if I do it myself', says Findekáno and proceeds to do so while Maitimo laughs, delighting in the mingling of happiness and desire that fills him.

When Findekáno joins him on the bed, kneels between his legs and begins to undo the golden sash of the blue robe, Maitimo draws his hands away.

'I want to have your gift, your colours, on me when you take me', he tells Findekáno and watches his beloved's eyes darken.

'That is more than I dared to hope, and exactly what I meant when I said seeing you wearing this would be your gift to me', Findekáno says hoarsely.

Maitimo takes his hand and pulls him closer, always closer, as close as they can be.

Later, when they are curled up together and the robe is draped over them both like an decadent, impractical blanket, Maitimo whispers, 'I still feel a little bad I didn't get you anything.'

'You do that another time, my love', Findekáno murmurs sleepily and settles his head more comfortably in the crook between Maitimo's neck and shoulder. 'Now I need to sleep off winning this anniversary.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People who have read a lot of my stuff may have noticed that I'm sort of giving in to spelling the Quenya voiceless velar plosive with a k rather than c in names where k is the convention, because it is the sensible thing to do. But I will **never** spell Maglor's father-name Canafinwë with a k [because I don't want to turn him into a chicken](http://elesianne.tumblr.com/post/153874978666/tolkien-meta-rambling-the-quenya-names-of-the), so I will continue to spell everyone's names with c in fics where he appears.
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


	2. Dor-lómin in the summer of 120 First Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maedhros proves his talent with words by sending a letter that leaves Fingon quite hot and bothered, and determined to reply in kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted some rambles about my writing and Maedhros's recovery from Thangorodrim on my [Tumblr](http://elesianne.tumblr.com/post/157200646346/writing-ramble-plus-an-optimistic-headcanon-on) for those who are interested.

It is not like Fingon to be in a bad mood but on this cool summer morning, the morning of a day he very much wants to spend celebrating with his beloved but instead has to spend dealing with cropping problems in the north-west, he finds it difficult to remain regal and sedate in front of his subjects. He would much rather sulk and break his fast in his own chambers with only his sour self for company.

But he knows his duty, so he takes his place at the head of the high table on the dais in his great hall and converses with his commanders and advisors while browsing through the messages that have arrived overnight or soon after dawn.

In addition to a letter from his father and another from Nargothrond, there are two letters addressed to him in a familiar, slightly unsteady handwriting. On one is written in blue ink _Prince Fingon_ , on the other in red ink _Findekáno_. There is also a package labelled Findekáno.

Fingon smiles a little to himself. Even Maedhros, the most diplomatic of the fiery sons of Fëanor, doesn't completely acquiesce to Thingol's ban on Quenya, and he is fond of using Fingon's forbidden Quenya name to let him know which letters and parcels are meant for the lover rather than the friend, cousin or ally.

Fingon knows to never open the missives thus labelled before he is in the privacy of his own chambers, so he puts that letter and package aside and opens the one Maedhros addressed to Prince Fingon. It is an unbelievably boring report, but Fingon's mood improves while he reads it because he knows that the other letter will be much more… interesting. Maedhros has a gift for the written word that makes living almost at the opposite ends of Beleriand more tolerable.

It is very late in the evening before he can retire to his chambers, send away his servants and settle down to read Maedhros's private letter, but he is certain that it will prove worth the wait.

_My beloved Findekáno,_

_I intend this letter to reach you on the day that is our anniversary, though the change in the counting of years makes it difficult to determine exactly how many years have passed since you first convinced me that kissing you would not be the end of our world. No matter how fervent were your protestations of maturity and experience, we were so young then and so innocent, yet the thought of touching my lips to yours still awakens the same feelings in me._

_I lost all sense of time at that dark point between our first years of love and these later ones, but I know you always kept count of years and days, and I know you must be sad that we could not be together today. Be assured that though our duties keep us apart on this day, you will be in my thoughts._

_I must confess that some of these thoughts of you will be such that they will distract me from my duties and wreak havoc with my equanimity as I deal with the disagreements that have arisen between my brothers. Are you grinning already in that wonderful, infuriating and heart-warming way of yours? I hope you are; I am always glad to be the cause of your grins, even when they come at the expense of my dignity._

_To warm your heart and your lovelier-than-ever body, I send a little anniversary gift. I was greatly insulted by your saying, when last we saw, that you thought I had forgotten the gift you gave me on our very first anniversary. How could I forget the fabric almost as soft as your skin, the forbidden colours that I loved to gaze at when I couldn't gaze at you, and the way your eyes filled with a storm when I told you I wanted to keep on my new gift when you made love to me? I wore it to shreds, as I hope you will wear this._

_You should prepare yourself for a visit from the lord of Himring in a few weeks' time, for I will ride west as soon as I get Tyelkormo and Carnistir sorted out, to seek your much better company. Besides the delight and pleasure of seeing you again, I am sorely in need of some time apart from my esteemed brothers and their fraternal fallings-out. I am confident that as always, you will make me forget everything but your touch and the wonderful, filthy sounds you make when our bodies meet._

_Until then, you had best keep your gift hidden like I did with mine such a long time ago. My father may be gone but you are still surrounded by people who continue to be somewhat distrustful of my house, and I fear the alliances and good relations I have managed to establish would be too sorely tried if you were seen wearing my colours._

_I, on the other hand, cannot wait to see you in red. I am trying to decide whether I want more to strip you of my gift as soon as you've put it on, or for you to keep wearing it when we celebrate seeing each other again…_

The letter is signed only with an M, and Fingon knows that he is allowed to interpret it as either Maitimo or Maedhros, whatever pleases him most.

 _Damn that tease,_ thinks Fingon when he has to adjust his clothes between putting down the letter and opening the parcel to find the red dressing robe he knew would be inside. Maedhros's letter made no mystery of the gift just as it didn't conceal how much he still wants Fingon, after all these years.

In spite of his current discomfort that he will have to suffer through or relieve by himself, missing Maedhros's touch, Fingon is glad that his beloved writes teasingly and lightly, displaying the easy self-confidence he has discovered in the years after his torment and the recovery from it. No longer in his father's overbearing shadow or burdened by the crown he felt he didn't deserve after Alqualondë and Losgar, Maedhros's spirit burns brighter than it did before the darkness he went through.

 _Perhaps because of it,_ Fingon thinks, stroking the lovely robe in his lap. _He always doubted his own strength; perhaps surviving and then overcoming something worse than he could ever have imagined made him finally realise the things I've always been telling him about his strength and worth._

It took time, of course, for Maedhros to accept himself as he is now, and to accept that Fingon loves him as he ever did. During those first years in the camp by Lake Mithrim Fingon helped Maedhros banish the shadows of guilt and torment, and though scars remain and youthful joy and innocence can never be regained, the two of them have built something new that is in its own way just as beautiful. Their second love is stronger than their first for having overcome adversity, just as Maedhros is.

Fingon reads through the letter a second time, savouring the words. Maedhros has always said that one of the reasons he loves Fingon is that Fingon makes him laugh, but Maedhros's own brand of dry irreverence mixed with casually stated yet outrageously arousing remarks never fails to make Fingon hot and bothered like nothing else.

This letter of Maedhros's has the usual effect on Fingon, as does holding the robe that is heavy velvet rather than light silk in deference to the cool climate of Dor-lómin, the deep red of it embroidered in the shade of dark green that is Maedhros's own favourite colour. As Fingon runs his fingers on the soft, soft fabric, he notes that there is no eight-rayed star among the embroidered patterns. It is frankly a relief, for he doesn't need to be reminded of Maedhros's father at a moment like this.

Fingon closes his eyes and imagines that it is Maedhros's skin under his fingertips, scarred now but no less wonderful to touch…

He really should reply to Finrod's letter first; there is official business to deal with there, rather than personal pleasure, but pleasure and more-than-cousinly affection is all that is in Fingon's mind right now. Once again he puts the tall red-headed cousin before all others.

He tries to think of something to write that would cause the same emotions and sensations in Maedhros that his letter roused in Fingon. The perfect idea arrives just as he is about to dip his quill in ink, and he puts the quill down.

Then he strips off, pulls on his new robe – oh, it feels just as lovely as he thought it would, its caress on his skin the best substitute he could have for Maedhros's touch – and sits down again to write.

_Dearest Maitimo,_

(for he can be a rebel too, in private at least)

_I thank you for your gift which is almost as beautiful as you are and has brightened my day considerably._

_Now, when I tell you that it is the only thing I am wearing as I write these answering words, I know that your cheeks will turn a shade very close to the remarkable colour of your hair. I have not bothered to tie the sash as it would only get in the way later, and I wish you were here to pull the robe off me altogether – or to indeed persuade me to keep it on when I show you how much I have missed you._

_I believe I could be persuaded to do whatever you wanted; all you need to do is repeat that thing with your tongue which so impressed me last time…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, writing epistolary fiction is so much fun, and these two are such a great couple.
> 
> Thank you for reading, do leave a comment if you have a moment! :) I'm also on [Tumblr](http://elesianne.tumblr.com).


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